McFassy Fluff
by JacAvoy85
Summary: "So," James said as he followed Michael in, "are we going to do that thing where we fake flirt with each other, to get the fans going?" Michael looked back at the brunet, eyebrow arched and smile back, full force. "Who said it was fake?" It's exactly as the title suggests. RPF. James and Michael. Fluff. Kissing. All the stuff we'd like to see in real life. No warnings.


**A/N: God. What am I doing? I**_** should**_** be working on the next chapter of "Claimed", but no, instead, here I am, getting distracted by RPFs. I blame YouTube for this. Why? Why did I go and start re-watching McFassy interviews? **

**Whelp, I'm proud/sad/ashamed to say I've seen them all. Some Twice. I could watch those two flirt all day long. **

**Anyways! Even though the sequel still isn't due to come out for **_**over a year**_**, I still couldn't help myself; I just had to write a story about my (still) favorite ship. Soooo let's say this story takes place, right as filming for the new movie is about to start, and it's been awhile since James and Michael have seen each other. **

**There will be fluff, there will be sexual tension, hell, there may even be some light kissing (there will totally be kissing), and I will regret nothing!**

That smile, that smile could only belong to one person.

"Fassbender," James said with his own brilliant smile, "it's been so long."

Michael embraced the man in a hug. "Too long," he replied, wrapping his arms around James' smaller frame. He fit just like a puzzle piece.

Both men pulled back, looking at each other for what felt like the first time in a long time.

Oh wait. It _had_ been a long time. James continued to smile as he reached up and flicked a stray strand of Michael's hair off his forehead. "I see you no longer look like a five dollar rent boy, now that the blond hair is gone." God, had it really been that long since he'd last seen Michael? So long ago that the man still had blond hair?

"And I see you're still short," the older man teased right back, earning him a pinch to the side and an "_oi_" from James.

"You cheeky bastard, you love my height and you know it."

Michael couldn't deny that. "I do," he replied, "and don't act like you didn't like my blond hair—I saw the way you looked at me when we did those interviews for First Class."

_Every_body saw the way James looked at Michael.

"That had nothing to do with the blond hair, my friend," James said back, the flirty little thing that he was. And did he just insert his "Charles" accent, there? Michael was going to bite him for that.

Right on the neck.

A sigh from Michael, but not a pained one, never a pained one when it came to James. "So, are we ready to do this all over again?" he asked his co-star, motioning with his head to where they'd soon be sitting, ready to start their interview. Oh how he's missed this.

No really, he's missed this.

"I don't think we have a choice," James replied, joking as well. He looked over to where Michael had. He glanced back to the taller man. "I swear, I hope they don't ask us the tired old question: _If you could have any mutant power, what would it be_?" he said with a mock voice, making a face after. "It felt like almost _every_ interview we did, we were answering that one."

"We _were_ answering that one in ever interview," Michael pointed out. He then smiled, as a memory struck him. "I did however, see the one where the guy asked you what question you get asked all the time (James' shoulders instantly started shaking. He knew where his friend was going with this), and you replied-"

"How many times did you sleep with Michael Fassbender," they said at the same time, James full on laughing after. Yep, that would be the one.

"Yes, I did say that, didn't I?" said James, stroking his chin in thought. He remembered that one quite fondly, actually.

"And the answer?" Michael prompted, smile growing.

James ducked his head. "Four."

Ah yes; four, but only on Tuesdays.

"Ah, but we both know that that was a lie," Michael went on, tipping James' face back up with his finger, forcing blue eyes to grey. "And the _real _answer, McAvoy?"

"Oh stop it." James pulled out of the taller man's touch, his grin blinding (his cheeks stained pink). If they kept up talking like this, people really _would_ think they'd slept together. Damn that quick interview James did, telling the world he and Michael had sex every morning, to answer the interview's question. He knew he took it too far, then. Especially after, when his wife called with a "_What the hell was that, James_?_"_

"You're a terrible man, Michael Fassbender."

Michael leaned in closer, right next to James' ear. "And I hear you like terrible men."

A shudder ran through James, he had to take another step back. "Don't know what's gotten into you, mate," he said with a nervous chuckle as he shook a cigarette out of his pack, popping it into his mouth. "You're awfully cheeky today."

Michael just grinned—and much from what he learned online—like a shark. "I'm always cheeky, Jamesy." He then, because he could, plucked the cigarette from the Scottish man's lips, and brought it to his own, taking a long inhale. James' eyes never left the man's mouth as it wrapped around his cancer stick and drew out all the sweet, sweet nicotine it could.

Was _everything_ Michael Fassbender did laced with sex?

Michael exhaled. "So," he said causally (some might argue "sexily"), "let's make bets. What question do you think will be the first question we get asked, once we go in there?" He motioned to the studio with James' cigarette, before taking another drag and then holding it out for the other man to take back.

Looking at his cigarette, James thought about this for a moment, before taking his fag back. He popped it in his mouth, inhaled, and then looked up to Michael. He exhaled.

"What's the first thing you two did when you saw each other again?"

A chuckle. "And the answer?"

James held his cigarette up, the small cylinder resting between his first two fingers loosely. "Why we shared a cigarette, of course."

The taller man laughed. "No, James, I do believe that comes _after_wards," he said with a hint of seduction laced in (_See_?). James just shook his head, placing the cigarette back in his mouth as he looked down.

"Terrible, terrible man," he muttered, smile forming around his fag. Oh how he couldn't wait for the interviews to begin.

But, before Michael could counter with anything—more than likely another jab at how James _loves_ it—someone (who clearly didn't value their job) interrupted them.

"Guys, two minutes."

Both men looked over, realizing it was time to go in. James took one last inhale before handing the remainder of his cigarette over to his once again co-star. Michael took it without a word, taking his last drag before killing it.

"So," James said as he followed Michael in, "are we going to do that thing where we fake flirt with each other, to get the fans going?"

Michael looked back at the brunet, eyebrow arched and smile back, full force. "Who said it was fake?"

…

After the interview….

"I honestly cannot believe we got asked that, _again_," Michael said as he poured James a drink, both men having returned back to Michael's hotel room. "Do the mutant powers questions never get old?" He handed the brunet his glass.

Taking his martini—and only Michael makes them the way James likes them. His trick? Shake the _shit_ out of them—James sighed. "I know, mate, it never gets old, does it?" For the interviewer that is.

"I think the poor chap froze up, maybe it was just a fallback question." An eyebrow rose. "I think you made him uncomfortable," Michael said with a laugh.

"Me?" James retorted. Oh no the man did _not_. He was not going to put the blame on James this time. "_You're_ the one who made the comment beforehand about us sharing a dressing room, to save budget!"

Michael laughed, his head tipping back and exposing his neck. James flashed his eyes away. "Yeah, well, that was only because you made the comment about Ian McKellen and Patrick Steward joining us in this film, and that we were no longer first priority here." He looked right at James. "What'd you say? We were no longer First Class, but Second Class?"

Laughing at the memory, James shook his head. "That was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"Exceptionally."

James took a drink, enjoying the slight burn. "Mm, wait. Weren't you the one who said you liked the way my butt looked in those blue and yellow suits we had to wear in the first film?" He cocked his own accusing eyebrow. "And you say _I_ was the one to make the poor man uncomfortable?"

"You're the one who pointed out the "leg zippers"," Michael countered, "on said suits." He joined James on the couch.

"Easy access, mate," James muttered, taking a drink after. "That's all I had to say on that matter."

Oh, how he could've said more though.

Michael turned on the couch to face the other man, tucking one leg underneath him. "See? And you said I was the cheeky one." James looked down, at where Michael's knee was touching his thigh, and swallowed. He glanced back up.

"You're a flirt," James said, finding that his voice cracked a little. The hell? Since when was he nervous around this man?

"Shamelessly," Michael murmured, leaning in just a little closer.

Oh god. Time for a subject change.

James cleared his throat before setting his drink down. He gave the taller man a smile. "So, speaking of shame, I'm sorry to say that I never got around to seeing that movie. Are all the rumors true? You're hung like a bloody horse?"

Great subject change McAvoy, might as well just asked to see his cock. He winced. And it was supposed to be a tease, but of course, came out more like a flirt. Wait to go Jamesy boy.

Michael smiled even wider. "James, I'm disappointed. You really never saw that movie?" A quick drink. "I was thinking of you the whole time I filmed it."

Some of the tension in James broke. He let out a short laugh, looking down. "Heavens no, mate." He looked back up. "Could you imagine the look on my wife's face if she walked in on me watching that? She'd think for sure that I had a crush on you. It was a goddamn porno, was it not?"

Basically. Michael shook his head. "Not the whole thing." The end though, that…that was pretty graphic. "And in regards to what you said before: you _don't_ have a crush on me?" he said in mock hurt, setting his own glass down.

Oh Michael, you really are a shameless flirt. James placed his hand on the man's leg. "Okay, I admit, you're the only guy I have a mancrush on. It's just the sexiness of it all."

'All' being Michael Fassbender.

Michael reached down and placed his hand over James'. "I think I remember you saying that," he said in a low voice, drawing the other man's hand up his thigh just so.

A swallow. Boy it was suddenly getting harder to breathe in here. Why was the air so thick? "I was referring to your character, Magneto, in that certain interview," James said, recalling exactly what Michael was talking about. He knew he should have never said that. Michael and his big ego. _Big cock, too, apparently_. Leave it to him to remember things like that.

"Still," Michael said absently. His eyes flashed over to James. "So, you still want to know about my cock?" he asked, like it was normal, everyday conversation (perhaps it was), going back to the subject that he clearly wasn't done with yet.

Right. James did bring that up though, didn't he? Kind of was his fault. What a stupid question.

So this was probably how that poor interviewer felt, all awkward and flushed.

"I shouldn't have fed your ego, should I have?"

Michael just brought James' hand further up his thigh, and to his delight, the man didn't pull away. His breathing, however, was starting to go shallow. Interesting. "Keep talking, McAvoy, and you'll soon enough find out for yourself."

"Michael," he gasped, moving his own hand up further, and when did that happen? He froze, forcing a smile. "A proper gentleman would at least offer to take me out on a date, first." And it was meant to be another one of James' award winning jokes—as well as his futile attempt to take some of the tension (sexual, he does believe) out of the room— but again, it backfired.

Spectacularly.

Looking seductively down into blue, blue eyes, Michael simply returned, "Well James, I'm afraid I don't have much time to take you out properly." A pause, in which he glanced down to James' perfectly red, and hopefully silky soft (as they looked) lips. "However (eyes flashed back up) I was hoping you'd at least settle for a first kiss." Another pause. "A first class kiss."

James snorted, knowing now that Michael was just messing with him. A "first class" kiss? Oh boy. That was pretty lame. He caught eyes with his friend again and-

Oh.

Well. Maybe he _wasn't_ just messing with him.

"Mich-" was as far as he got, the other man having leaned in all the way and closing the short—and when did it become so short?—distance between them.

Kissing Michael Fassbender, was just as one would've expected. He kissed how he acted; passionate, hungrily, hot and full of _sex_.

A strong hand came up and cupped James' cheek, angling his head just so. Just so that the kiss sent electricity surging through his body.

James broke away, with a gasp, finding his breath. He looked Michael in the eye.

"I'm not the first man you've kissed, am I?"

It was a rhetorical question, at best. Michael just smiled—less teeth this time—and gave James a knowing look. One that might be best described by fan girls everywhere as _I'm Michael Fassbender, what did you expect_?

Perhaps Michael should spend less time online. That Tumblr… it, it will get you.

James let out a ragged breath, then, and only when realizing his hand was fisted in his co-star's shirt, pulled the older man back, pressing their mouths together again. Michael's hand cupped the younger man's cheek firmly—not that it ever left its spot—and pressed more into the kiss, practically devouring James' lips.

This time when they broke, both men gasped, softly, and then met eyes.

"You're very practiced at this, aren't you?" James managed to get out, be his breath a bit, well… breathless.

A soft chuckle from the other man. And even _that_ was oozing with sex. "I've spent a lot of time online reading."

James furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Nothing, never mind," Michael said, waving it off. He looked at James seriously. "I hope I won't get you in trouble with Anne-Marie, for that."

James smiled, ducking his head. Right, the wife, how could he forget? He looked back up.

"Trouble? The only trouble I'll be in is when she finds out she wasn't here to watch." A pause. "Perhaps we should've recorded it."

Again, it was meant to be a joke, but Michael, the good looking bastard that he is, just had that look on his face—that _no good _look. That _yeah, let's do it_ look. James sighed.

"No, actually, that would be a terrible idea," the brunet said absently, ignoring his friend's scheming face. "I fear it would still somehow fall into the wrong hands and wind up on YouTube or something." He cringed. "That's the last thing we need, too. Pictures of us kissing all over the Internet." Oh the _horrors_.

"Too late," Michael muttered.

"What?" James asked again. Why did it feel like he was constantly being left out of something? Was there some sort of joke he was missing here?

And again, Michael just shook his head. "Nothing," he replied.

That Photoshop… that's some pretty amazing stuff.

A sigh from James. "Right, whatever." He looked around, his eyes finally settling on the man he just swapped spit with. "So, now what?" Now that they finally got that out of the way.

"Now," Michael said as he tipped James' face up with his hand, "we go out there and do our jobs."

…

A week later…

"Oh my _god_." That was James, and from the sound of his voice he was quite distraught. Michael made his way into his friend's dressing room— and no; they weren't really sharing one—and stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh. Oh it would appear that James got on that site that Michael told him not to, if the image from the Scottish man's laptop were any indication.

Michael… tried to warn him.

"There are _pictures_," the brunet said in his horror—and really, why was he so surprise? They brought this on themselves, what with all the flirting and innocent touching that went on between them during their interviews. And who originally was the starter of the flirting, neither of them knew. "And stories, and- and pictures!" James twisted his face around to look at Michael, who was seriously not at all trying to cover his mouth with a hand. Because that would just be rude.

"Pictures that are, I don't know, Photo Shopped, I suppose," James barreled on, his voice sounding no less panicked. "And-and _drawings_ of sorts!" he clicked on something on his screen. "Dear lord! What is Charles doing to Erik in this one?"

Michael's shoulders were shaking. "Those are called "fan art"," he pointed out. James just looked back at him in horror.

"Fan art? Wha… what _is_ all this?"

"I told you not to get on Tumblr." The older man shook his head.

"But-but, the _stories_. Have you _seen_ the stories?"

Oh, Michael's seen the stories.

"James," the man said as he came closer, "just close your laptop. It will be all right."

"No it will not be all right," James shot at him, all frazzled and sexy looking. Michael wanted to bite him. "Some of these stories have _our_ names in them, not just Charles and Erik, _our_ actual names."

Clearly this was unsettling to the man. Michael just sighed. "It's okay, Char- I mean James (James shot him a death look. Again, he was not amused by any of this) it's just fan girls living out their fantasies. That's all."

Some very hot fantasies.

"But-but, do you think they found out about the (here, James lowered his voice) kiss, we shared?" He looked desperately at the other man. "Is that where all this came from?"

Yes, because all that fanfiction came within the timespan of one week. Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, James," he told the man, "that's been around since the first movie came out." A pause. "Our interviews didn't help, either," he added. A smile formed.

James whipped his face back around to glare at his co-star. "And just how do you know so much about all this? Hm? Are you the writing of this… _fanfiction_?"

This time Michael did roll his eyes. "Yes, James. Because clearly I wrote _all_ that fanfiction." Because that was just what Michael Fassbender did in his spare time.

A flat look from James.

Well, okay, maybe all the anonymous ones.

END

**A/N: I really wanted to post this as 'anonymous', but couldn't figure out how, and probably for lack of really trying. **


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